


Crime and Consequent

by QueerCannibal



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexuality, Canon Character/Original Character, M/M, Masturbation, Murder, Original Character - Freeform, Semi-repulsed Asexual, Suicide, Tags to be added as needed, non-repulsed asexual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:27:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23763079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueerCannibal/pseuds/QueerCannibal
Summary: Once upon a time, James saw hell--taken by monsters and dragged over the coals--but who would believe him? Who would believe that his boyfriend was a terrible abuser? Or that he really had seen unexplained and monstrous things not of this world? Deciding that it was time for Justice, James does something unthinkable, and lands himself in the middle of the Pentagram, with nowhere to go but potentially up. Which is how this sad demon clown ends up at the Hazbin Hotel, where he sees a familiar face.
Relationships: Alastor (Hazbin Hotel)/Original Male Character(s)
Kudos: 22





	Crime and Consequent

**Author’s note:** Hello, hello, here with another commissioned piece for a lovely twitter friend; a friend who has fantastic taste in entertainment~

If you haven’t seen Hazbin Hotel and have somehow stumbled upon this fic, I highly suggest that you pop off to youtube and enjoy the pilot; I also highly suggest that you also watch Helluva Boss which takes place in the same universe as Hazbin Hotel. Both are very funny, and very important to the plot of this story.

Song inspiration: Until the real thing comes along – The Platters

Now, enjoy~

** Crime and  ** ** Consequent **

Written by QueerCannibal

The writing was on the walls, had been for a long time, longer than anyone probably could ever imagine. Sure there were bound to be those who would say they were surprised, those shocked and oh so good people of the Cul-de-sac. They’d be the ones who would say, _“oh but he was so sweet! I never would have guessed that he could have done something like this!”_ and _“That sweet boy? What a shame.”_ Of course, there would also be comments such as, _“I knew that fag was no good.”_ And _“I always knew that there was something weird about him. He was just too quiet. Never socialized. Never joined in. He wasn’t like the rest of us.”_ Those good proper folk, with their potato salad and their block parties; they’d all be talking for years. At least until something or someone knew came along, bringing new sins and scandals with them to get tongues wagging.

The only one in the dark—at least at first—was James himself. He never could have seen it coming. The end. But perhaps it was because he’d been in denial, had on rose tinted glasses. Couldn’t see the warning signs until it was too late, and even then… there was no going back.

_“Stop.”_

_“Shut up, almost there.”_

_“Stop—you’re hurting me—”_

_“Just shut your fucking mouth—see, see how nice that is? How well you take it. Knew you could.”_

The radio clicked on, partial static, partial a far too chipper voice for such an early hour talking about the weather and morning traffic. James’s eyes snapped open wide, heart in his throat, anxiety tightening his chest. It took several long moments of him staring up at the mottled cottage cheese ceiling to realize who he was, where he was, and that he was in fact awake. The realization unfortunately wasn’t enough to still the anxiety or slow down his heart. He inhaled slowly through his mouth, filling his lungs till they burned and ached—that was getting worse—and dragged a hand up to the center of his chest where he pressed down against his sternum to try and settled the anxiety there, and get it to loosen it’s taloned claws.

As music began to drift from the radio clock, James slowly came back to himself, the dream fading quickly from his brain, though it left behind a heavy cobweb in its wake. All well, his brain always felt in a fog these days, it wasn’t a new sensation; swallowing to wet his cotton mouth, James’s slid his hand down to his stomach, gently fingering his bellybutton before resting it a little lower. He dragged his middle finger through the course hair that lead from his bellybutton to his underwear idly, enjoying the texture.

_Don’t you know I’d work for you,_

James turned his head and looked at the radio on his bedside table; its glass front was lit by early golden morning light, the numbers faded, their inferior light no match for the morning golden hour sun. He looked back towards the ceiling, unblinking.

_I’d slave for you_

_Be a beggar or a knave for you_

He slid his fingers lower, brushing over the silky hem of his underwear before slipping them beneath the waistband, a low weak hum starting up in the back of his throat as he attempted to harmonize a bit with the beat of the song.

_If that isn’t love it will have to do_

_Until the real thing comes along_

Sliding his fingers over his hard alert cocklet and lower still, dragging across furry soft lips to sink between warm wet folds to scoop out the wet heat gathered there, slicking his fingers up before dragging them back to that erect flesh. He closed his eyes as he curled his index and middle finger around that small throbbing pillar, curling his head to one side than the other as he hummed along to the song.

_Gladly move the earth for you_

_Prove my love dear, and it’s worth for you_

He jerked at the meat with thumb and index finger, hips cocking up into his own touch, cunt clamping around nothing as he tugged at his cock. His brow knit together, lips parting as he worked himself quickly to release.

_If that isn’t love it’ll have to do_

_Until the real thing comes along_

_With all the words dear at my command_

James mouthed weakly along to the lyrics, eyes closed, dark lashes fluttering as his pleasure built hot and tight behind his groin, fingers cramping, wrist chafing a little against the waistband of his underwear.

“Ahh—” The humming drew to a soft moan that rose up out of his throat as he felt his cock stiffen all the more and throbbed against his fingers.

_I just can’t make you understand_

_I’ll always love you baby – come what may_

_My heart is yours, what more can I say_

“Ah ah AhhH ah AH--!” James cried out, arching sharply off of the bed, hips bucking up against his hand, thighs trembling as he tucked his face against his shoulder, brow knitted, mouth open. He continued to tug at his cock until he collapsed back against the mattress, then only holding himself as his body trembled and shook, cock throbbing against his fingers as moisture spread down along towards the cleft of his ass.

Flushed, ears hot, he opened his eyes and gazed towards the curtained windows, heart pounding in his chest—now for entirely different reasons. He laid there till his breathing began to slow, only then did he withdraw his fingers, drawing them up to his lips and sucking them in, swirling his tongue around them lazily. He hummed as the song ended, debating on what he wanted for breakfast.

Today was a special day. Maybe he’d treat himself.

Special days required special care—self care so to speak—so James spent his morning with a shower, scrubbing head to toe, taking special care to clean behind his ears, between his toes, and even in his bellybutton. He blow dried his hair, did a face mask, plucked his eyebrows, and even used a lip scrub on his lips. It took most of the early morning, but it was worth it. He felt good. Special. Pampered. He fluffed his hair a little before selecting a pair of light peach boxer-briefs, light wash jeans with cuffed ankles, and a pale baby blue pull over sweater.

Standing in front of his closet, hip cocked, he debated between two button up shirts; a white button up shirt with cats wearing horn rimmed glasses and a yellow button up with bumblebees embroidered on the collar. After several minutes of debate he selected the yellow button up, putting it on before pulling his sweater on over his head, making sure the collar popped out of the top so the bumblebees could be seen. Good, perfect.

He grabbed his scuffed chucks and slipped them on before admiring himself in the mirror. Not too bad, he admired the way he looked in the natural light filtered pink and gold through his window blinds. He thought he looked good, soft, skin glowing, picture perfect.

He ran his hands down over his chest, making sure he was flat—it was the only thing he ever worried about, whether or not he was flat. He had to be flat. If he wasn’t he could leave the house, wouldn’t leave the house.

Once he was sure that nothing was showing through the button up and sweater, James grabbed his wallet, tucking it into his back pocket, and headed out of the house. As he headed for the street, he tried to say good morning to the newspaper boy making his rounds but barely managed an awkward wave that made his ears flush hot when he got a weird look from the kid riding past on his bike. Oh, God he hoped the kid didn’t think he was a pervert or something. Jesus, that’s all he needed.

He made eye contact with old Mrs. Nill across the way while she sat at her organ playing her daily hymns and shuffled along down the sidewalk. That woman always glared at him, sometimes he felt like she was peering into his soul and it left his skin crawling. She’d never been nice. Of course, she thought everyone she ever met was going to hell.

James had never been great at making friends; he’d hoped that he’d grow out of it. He’d managed to move out on his own and get a small little house in a semi-decent cul-de-sac, hold down a job for several years, but friends… that never really came. He knew his neighbors but they really didn’t know him. They never really talked never even borrowed sugar or laundry detergent. He guessed that it just wasn’t in his cards.

Walking to the nearest diner, James got himself a booth to himself with a decent view and ordered a smoothie and some chocolate milk—as well as water, because might as well be hydrated right?

While he waited for his drink he looked over the menu, debating whether he should have pancakes or something a little healthier. Of course today was a treat-your-self day, but he ought to be reasonable right? Shouldn’t go too overboard, beside he’d burn off the sugar so fast—shouldn’t he get something heartier? Something to stick to his ribs, get him through the day?

“What will it be sweetheart?” The waitress asked, a tall full figured woman with big red hair, and full tattoo sleeves; she looked like a cool mom, but not the “cool-mom” type that only thought they were cool.

“Could, um, I just,” he laid his menu down flat and hovered over it a little, pointing, “I’d like the berry pancakes please?”

“Sure thing sugar.” She jotted down his order and headed off. Another waitress brought his trinity of drinks and dropped them on with a straw, but only the one, because had to save the turtles right?

Breakfast at the diner was definitely a treat; James hardly ever ate out, typically sticking to home cooking or takeout—people tended to give him funny looks when he was out and about and honestly he just didn’t have the energy to deal with it. Today was different though, it was a special day; he didn’t care what they said, or how they looked at him—let them talk, let them talk and gawk and whisper behind their hands. It was nothing new, and today of all days, it didn’t matter.

Leaving a decent tip James climbed out of his booth having cleaned his plate; he hadn’t done that in a diner since he was a kid. When he was a child he’d eat four whole waffles all by himself, and still have room for more. Now his appetite had diminished to say the least, but he’d decided to be decadent. He didn’t do it very often, so what was the harm?

Paying his check he headed back out. There were a few more stops he had to make before heading back home, errands to run; he had to make a stop at the local hardware store, and the dollar tree; well, at least he’d get a chance to work off his breakfast.

James spent twenty minutes in the hardware store, weighing prices and debating whether or not an extra four dollars was worth it—of course this was the one place he decided he shouldn’t skimp on. Hardware was important, if it was cheap it would break down and not be worth anything; it was like the old saying, shell out the money for the expensive shoes, otherwise you’ll spend more replacing the cheap shoes again and again, and again. Or whatever nonsense his mother had said when he was growing up.

His trip into the dollar store was much quicker. He picked up a soda—another treat—and some chalk and some _Awesome_ ™ cleaning solution. His mother had always hated that he liked this stuff, called it cheap, but honestly it did a great job—perhaps not as great as it had once been, but still pretty good. It was the only cleaner that he had found worked on his clothes.

The walk home took considerably longer, given his burden, but he didn’t mind all that much, even if his elbows and shoulders began to ache two blocks from the cul-de-sac. He huffed and puffed along the sidewalk towards his house, dropping the hardware bag on the porch, putting a hand to his lower back and arching as far back as he could to try and ease some of the tension before fishing his keys from his pocket and unlocking the door. Carrying his purchases in side, James closed the door behind himself and took the bags to the dining room table. He sighed and looked around. He had a lot of work to do. He had a date tonight. He couldn’t help but smile. Tonight was special.

As the morning turned to afternoon, and the afternoon wore on to evening, James was preparing; he had cleaned himself up a little, dressed in nicer clothes—all black, he liked bright colors but black seemed appropriate, more formal—and even put some food in the oven around four-o-clock. It was a little after six when there was a knock at his back door. He’d just checked on his roast—it was cooked to perfection—closing the oven he couldn’t quite help the nervous smile that caused the corners of his mouth to twitch as he straightened up and dumped the oven mitts on the counter.

“Just a minute.” He called as he exited the kitchen and for the backdoor; he glanced towards his living room currently hidden behind a tall room divider—he knew that it would probably get a comment but, well, all well, he wouldn’t let anything ruin tonight.

Pausing at the back door he took a deep stabilizing breath before opening the door. He felt his heart rise to his throat, and his stomach tense at the sight of the man on his back step.

“Hey.”

“Hey?” He cocked a brow and James gave himself a shake.

“Come in!” he stepped aside to let the man inside.

Dinner didn’t last long. James sat across from the other man, swirling his drink, food steaming on his plate, watching as the man dug in, taking large bites and then a large swig of wine. Good. He smiled.

“Is it good?” He met the other man’s gaze when he glanced up. “You always did enjoy my cooking.”

xxx

The plastic crinkled under his shoes, squeaking against the rubber soles—it made his hair stand on end and his skin feel tight, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not now, not when he finally had everything the way they had to be.

“What’s happening?”

James’ jaw clenched and he turned on his heel with a squeak before backhanding the figure duct-taped to the kitchen chair sharply. It hurt, but he didn’t even care, in a way it also felt good. How many times had this motherfucker backhanded him and bashed his head against the wall? How many bruises, black eyes, and bloody noises had he endured over the course of their three year relationship?

“Shut the fUck up!” He hissed through gritted teeth, rubbing his hand as he grabbed the duct-tape again and ripped off another piece, slapping it over the man’s mouth—he didn’t want to hear his voice, he didn’t want him to speak, to try and explain or come up with excuses.

“I’M DONE LISTENING TO YOU! I’M DONE LETTING YOU INFECT MY HEAD WITH YOUR LIES AND YOUR HATE!” He screamed, crossing to the table and grabbing a meat tenderizer. Storming back he hit the man across the face with it, first once, then twice, dazing him. He chucked the tenderizer. “You’re a fucking monster.” He hissed, grabbing a fistful of the man’s hair and yanking his head up, watching the fog behind his eyes. “You fucking ruined my life, and for what? For ten minutes of your own fucking pleasure?” He dropped the man’s head and grabbed a rolling pin, hitting the man across the chest and the ribs, first one side then the other. “WHAT ABOUT ME? WHAT ABOUT HOW I FEEL? WHERE MY FEELINGS SO UNIMPORTANT!? YOU SELFISH SON OF A BITCH! I WAS YOUR BOYFRIEND! AND YOU TREATED ME LIKE I WAS JUST SOME FUCKING TOY! USABLE AND DISPOSABLE YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!” He kicked the chair, knocking the battered man over with a heavy loud crash. He was still solidly taped into the chair and groaned against the floor, wheezing heavily through his nose.

James’s chest rose and fell as he panted, trying to catch his own breath. He was seeing red. He could hear bells ringing in his ears, heart pounding against his ribs. He turned and grabbed the large butcher knife; the knife was as long as his forearm, and a heavy weight in his hand.

“Well, not anymore. Not again. Not to anyone.” He whispered turning on his heel and kicking the man over onto his back with a thunk, straddling him and raising the knife above his head. “I FUCKING HATE YOU!” He screamed and brought the knife down, again, and again, and again.

Stabbing was not easy. It took a considerate amount of effort to stab through clothes and skin, fat and bone. It was intimate and personal, but it was a lot of hard work. Yes, his target couldn’t move, but the muffled sound of screaming through the duct-tape made his ears ring, the blood splattered and flew, spilling out onto the plastic, spattering his hands, and his face, and his clothes. It stank. The room began to smell of copper, and piss. 

Even when the screaming and unsuccessful struggling stopped he didn’t stop, couldn’t stop. He continued raising the knife with both hands above his head and striking, over and over, again and again, shoulders burning, elbows locked, barely able to breathe.

Only after stabbing the body sixty-seven times did the knife finally tumble from James’ grip, landing on the blood soaked plastic with a wet thump. He sat atop the body, trembling violently from head to foot, covered in blood, eyes wide. He couldn’t even recognize the body anymore. It wasn’t the man who’d hurt him. It was just… bloodied meat.

Standing shakily, he staggered off of it, slipping a little in the pool of blood and gasping sharply. He stared at the corpse, then lifted his hands, drenched in red, trembling beyond his control. Oh God. Oh God, what did he do? What did he do!?

He stumbled back, letting out a grunt when his back hit the wall. Only then, braced against the plastic covered wood did a sort of calm settle over him. What did he do? He’d gotten rid of a monster. A monster that manipulated and hurt people. An awful monster. Only the idiotic and foolish would miss it. Some sins were worth it.

James took a stabilizing breath and pushed off of the wall. They’d never understand, no one, but that didn’t matter. It didn’t matter what they said about him, his life, the things that they did. Because… he’d done what was right. What needed to be done. He’d killed a monster.

He smiled. He couldn’t help it. He felt… justified. But the smile quickly faded. He’d taken law into his own hands… that… that was inherently wrong. Who was he to judge? It wasn’t his place. He looked at the bloody lump again before looking away, brow wrinkling. It was justice. But… no one would see it that way. They’d side with his abuser. The monster. They’d blame him for ending someone’s life to soon. His own…

His brow wrinkled and he gave his head a shake. His life was his own. He didn’t care what they said. He’d tell himself that as much as he had to. But he wouldn’t let them ruin his life. Not now. Not after he’d finally gotten the justice he deserved.

Methodically, carefully, James pulled the plastic from the walls, and wrapped the chair and body and weapons as best he could—he wanted minimal mess—he might have taken the law into his own hand, but he’d take pity on the poor souls who would need to clean up the place.

He went so far as to clean up the kitchen—packing away the leftover food—washed the dishes. Then he retired to his bedroom.

He sat on his bed for twenty minutes, stroking a thumb along a dry rope resting across his thighs. He stared at his closet door, unblinking, unseeing. Only when he thought that enough time had passed, that any doubts had fled his mind, did he stand and cross to the closet, winding the rope in his hand. His life was his own. Only, his own.

xxx

It wasn’t a surprise, not really, not after what he had done—but even so, it was disorienting being back in the Pentagram and it being very real, not just drugs, a fever, hallucination or something else; everything his family, his partners, his therapists had said that it was. It was, instantaneous, one minutes his vision was going black, the next he was here, alive… well, maybe not alive.

There were no, welcoming committees in Hell, no, run down on the way things were run. He didn’t even see Satan; he wondered vaguely if Satan was real, maybe he wasn’t, maybe he was just… a fairytale after all. But what he did know was, he was oddly hungry. Hungry, and sore, and alone on the streets. Alive or dead, that wasn’t any good. 

James figured out the hard way that you could absolutely suffer in hell, you just couldn’t die. The first month—or what he assumed to be a month—he’d been stabbed, torn to pieces, and hit by a car, only to wake up whole back in the pentagram. He supposed in some weird twisted way it was like a video game; get killed and it’s only a matter of time before you re-spawn. It was a comfort in a small way, but even so, he’d rather not just be someone’s whipping boy. He wanted to do more than just… survive on the streets among the lowest seediest dregs of the hellish undead.

It wasn’t long after he’d come to that conclusion that he stumbled upon the Hazbin Hotel. He didn’t know what it was, but it was a hotel, and well, if nothing else, he could see what the cost for a room was; usually if money wasn’t available there were other ways to bargain.

Climbing the stairs he felt a little anxiety settle in his chest—and unusual feeling these days since he was surrounded by so much chaos—and he steeled himself before knocking on the door; he hoped that what he’d heard of the hotel was true. Of course, he wasn’t exactly looking for redemption, but a safe or safe-ish place to call home.

The door opened and James blinked and glanced down. There was a small tiny red headed woman with big yellow eyes peering up at him. He looked down at her, a strange wave of awkwardness creeping down his back.

“Oh, hey, guys! There’s a clown at the door!” The red head said with a wide toothy grin before scurrying away faster than James could register.

“What?” A moment later another woman appeared in the door, all pale skin, wide eyes, and long blonde hair. She beamed and opened the door the rest of the way. “HI! Welcome, come in come in, how can we help you?” She bounced excitedly. James recognized her from some of the advertisements but really didn’t know her.

“I was, uh, wondering if there was any rooms…”

“OH so your checking in!? REALLY!?” She grabbed his hand and dragged him along behind her, the front door closing on its own. “This is excellent! We can get you a room right away!”

“Oh… really? That…that’s great!” James felt overwhelmed. The woman’s energy was… insane, hyper, and just so much. “I’m.. . surprised you can fit me in so soon.”

“Are you really?” She asked as she grabbed a key from behind the desk. He glanced around, eyes roaming over the other people in the entry hall. There were three others, the red haired woman who was currently standing on a bar dusting the hanging glasses, the raccoon-cat demon behind the bar, and another gray skinned woman with long blonde blonde-white hair.

“Uh, no. I mean, not really.” He looked back at her and cleared his throat giving a nervous smile. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said it.”

“No, no it’s, true we don’t have many patrons, but, we have a few. Uh you might have heard that we have well known porn actor Angel Dust staying here with us!”

“Oh, yes, uh, the Spider, the uh, Spider Demon.” He nodded. “Yes I saw. I don’t know him. I mean, I don’t, I’ve never… I’m… new. Kind of.”

“Oh, oh that’s great! Well, I mean, it isn’t great that you’re dead, but hey, adjustment should be much easier for you! I’m Charlie, what’s your name?” Of course that was just a guess, he was sure, but while redemption wasn’t something he was looking for, if it happened, well, he wouldn’t complain.

“James.”

“Here’s your room key, you’re on the third floor.” She held the key out, and he took it, holding the heavy metal weight in his hand. Well, room and board. Free. And all it would cost is the price of a soul he didn’t have. Not a bad deal he supposed, all things considered.

“ _I_ see that we have a new guest.”

“Oh, yes—James, the other member of our project—“ She rounded the counter and turned him by the shoulders towards the hallway, “Alastor.”

James felt his heart stutter. _The Radio Demon._ His eyes widened as the tall slender figure stepped into the entry way, draped head to toe in red, black tipped ears twitching forward, focused, eyes focused on him. On _him._

“Alastor, this is James, he’ll be staying with us.” Charlie said with a bright smile as the other Demon stepped forward; he was quite a bit taller than James, not that that was difficult, Charlie was nearly taller than him.

“It’s a pleasure I’m sure. Welcome to our… happy home.” He said with a slow curling grin. James swallowed and offered his hand.

“Yeah. Thank you.” It had been so long since he’d last seen those eyes, he could almost believe if he’d still had a soul the man could see it. Could see right through him. Alastor’s ears twitched a little and his smile turned a little sharper as he accepted the proffered hand.

“I hope that you’ll find your stay here… _enlightening_.”

**Authors Note:** Thank you for tuning in for the chapter! Any feedback would be welcome! Also, if you’re interested in a commission feel free to message me! We can discuss what you’re looking for and if I can deliver! If you’re not interested in a commission but would like to help out a writer currently out of work due to the current epidemic who also has a compromised immune system, please donate! Literally anything helps!

You can contact me here: Twitter, @ ThatDramaBitchQ , or message me here on AO3.


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